The Eve of the 2nd Voyage: In which we finally make the “big left turn”.

In the sailing world, making the “big left turn” signifies that you are consciously leaving your old life behind, are heading far out to sea to ascertain just how big the world really is, and aren’t planning on coming back for a really long time. In the non-sailing world, it’s known variously as “midlife crisis”, “the ultimate 180”, or just “the big stupid.”

Those that know us can go back to doing whatever it is they were doing because they’ve already heard this story a million times before, but our dream of the “big left turn” started in March of 2013. The Captain and I were on the deck of a cruise ship staring down at the boats at anchor in the harbor outside Charlotte Amalie in St Thomas. These weren’t fat cats in their megayachts. These were everyday people living on the hook, grilling on the back deck, hanging out their laundry to dry in the sea breeze. Had it been March of 2003 when we were in full-on workaholic mode—building our business, renovating an historic house, and accumulating copious amounts of stuff—our observation would have been along the lines of, “Look at them. Lazy sons of bitches. What are they contributing to society?” But after 10 years of relentless grind, the sentiment became, “Look at them. Lazy sons of bitches. They’ve got it dialed in.” And that’s when it dawned on us. We could be lazy sons of bitches, too. As the Captain put it, “We’ve spent the past 25 years chasing our tails—the last 15 working our asses off to start/grow/sustain a business—and for what?” A rhetorical question really, but the answer is a big house filled with lots of stuff…and stress. Lots of stress. The kind that keeps you up at night worrying about how you’re going to be able to finance your new business line, renovate your bathroom, and accumulate more stuff before your next nervous breakdown. And then one night, as you’re lying awake waiting for the Ambien to kick in, you think to yourself, “Why am I killing myself for a house of stuff? What has this stuff ever done for me? Did Otter turn off the refrigerator light before he let the houseplant out? Do turtles wear pants?” Editor’s Note: Ambien should not to be taken with alcohol.

Within a week of returning from that cruise, the Captain and I decided that a change was in order. We would do whatever we could—whatever was required—to ensure that the second halves of our lives would be a bit more interesting than the first. We would pare our lives down to the essentials; we would leave everything else behind; and we would have adventures. And we would take a dog, a cat, and an old lady along for the ride. Because why be stupid on your own when you can drag family into it?

We found and purchased Raven in May of 2013. And so it is that the last two years and three months have been spent preparing for this day. Two years to bring Raven back to life; to sell businesses, houses, and cars; and to dispense of 25+ years of stuff. (Goodwill loved us. They just parked the semi in front of our house and stationed a full-time attendant. His name was Brian and he took his coffee with sugar.) In June and July of 2015, we went on our “shakedown cruise” (the highs and lows of which may be relived in blog posts of the first voyage). During the month of August, we completed our repairs in Everett. On August 26^th I was apparently the only person drinking the white wine at a five-person get-together—one whole bottle and a gin chaser later and I spent the entire night and following morning retching into the toilet and feeling generally sh*tty, thus completing my tutorial on “here’s a taste of what it will probably be like when you’re seasick but still need to crawl out of bed and do stuff”. On August 28^th the Captain celebrated a birthday, so we got a lesson in “it doesn’t matter how big the cake is it must all be eaten tonight because we need room in the refrigerator”. On August 29^th (the day we were originally planning to leave) extremely high winds kept us tied to the dock, but sustained winds in the 25-30 mph range with gusts of up to 50 moved the boat so much that we got to practice “cooking on a stove that’s moving like a bucking bronco while simultaneously running around catching stuff that needed to be better tied down”. On August 30^th we spent our last day in the marina contemplating the next day’s journey, sizing up the impact of so great a life change, and doing what so many have done before us when faced with a journey into the unknown…we did laundry. After all, if something was to happen to us out there, we wouldn’t want to wash up on shore wearing dirty underwear.

The crew of S/V Raven would like to send a big "thank you" to Phil and Chris at Everett Yacht Service and Tom and Jeff of Tom’s Electric. Without them, we’d still be in Everett. So if this journey goes horribly wrong, it’s all their fault.